"Who is next?" Ethan asked, his eyes moving over the benches.
A few students were already shifting, preparing to stand and name the opponent they wished to challenge.
Before anyone could speak, a calm, emotionless voice broke the moment, addressing both the students and Ethan.
"Why not demonstrate a real duel for them?"
Every head swiveled toward the voice.
Professor Amalai Crave had risen. His expression held no trace of feeling, as though he had been dragged here against his will. His cold, dead eyes settled on Ethan, and the stare annoyed Ethan as much as ever. In all his time at Hogwarts, Ethan had never understood this man. Crave was unreadable, inscrutable, and that very opacity had always made Ethan cautious around him.
The challenge was plain.
And it presented a perfect opportunity for Ethan to finally gauge Crave's real abilities. For several taut seconds, neither spoke. The students began to murmur, exchanging glances and quiet guesses—why would their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor challenge their Dueling professor?
Finally, after the prolonged, intense stare, Ethan smiled.
"Oh? So you want to demonstrate a duel?"
Before Crave could respond, Professor Flitwick suddenly brightened like a child offered sweets.
"Oh, that is a splendid idea!" he said, clapping his hands together. "A real duel carries a different tension entirely. The students should absolutely see it."
Ethan chuckled softly.
"Well, I cannot deny that. I speak about battle and dueling almost every time in this class. It would be rather unfair if the students never saw their teachers put those words into practice."
He tilted his head slightly.
"At the very least, they should know their professors can actually do what they teach or brag about."
The students burst into laughter.
A few stiff shoulders softened as Ethan spoke, the familiar warmth of the classroom settling back in.
Crave, unsurprisingly, showed no trace of amusement. The mild joke seemed to him like the incoherent nonsense of a fool—his expression stayed cold and impassive.
He removed his long black coat with one graceful motion and placed it with deliberate care on a nearby table. Freed of the garment, his posture grew even more severe, more unforgiving. He drew his silver wand and stepped into the dueling arena.
Then he looked at Ethan and extended a small, courteous gesture, as if inviting him to dance, before assuming his position and facing him fully.
Ethan smiled faintly and turned toward Flitwick.
"Professor Flitwick, would you do us the honor of refereeing? The arena wards should protect the students, but I would prefer an extra layer of caution."
Flitwick puffed up proudly.
"Oh, of course, Professor Thorne. I would be delighted. Truly delighted."
He stepped forward, positioning himself slightly to the side of the arena. His presence alone seemed to strengthen the air, like an invisible shield had been placed around the room.
He turned to the students.
"Now then," he said, voice surprisingly firm. "All of you should pay very close attention. For many of you, this will be the first time witnessing a real duel between adult wizards. This is not practice. This is not a schoolyard contest."
His eyes were shining bright.
"This is a chance you may not get again—not for a long while. So look carefully, savor it, and take every lesson from it. Watch how wizards with years of experience fight and duel one another."
The students erupted into excited murmurs.
Some leaned forward eagerly. Others whispered rapidly to their classmates and friends around them.
"I reckon Professor Crave wins. Given all his experience—and he's a Crave, come on."
"No chance! Professor Thorne took on three dark wizards by himself on the train—remember?"
"Yeah, he did well, but he got injured. If Dumbledore had been there, those wizards wouldn't have escaped—they'd be in chains."
"Oi, enough with the Thorne-versus-Dumbledore nonsense. It's stupid."
"Crave's scary though. I heard rumors he was tight with one of You-Know-Who's inner circle."
"That's rubbish. Ministry would've thrown him in Azkaban if it were true."
"Shh, you idiots—keep it down! Half the room can hear you!"
"Fine… I'm still picking Professor Crave."
"Professor Thorne for me."
The tension spread like wildfire.
At the center of it all, Ethan stepped into the arena and drew his wand.
Now they stood face to face.
Flitwick raised a hand.
"Remember. No lethal intent. But otherwise… begin."
Silence dropped like a curtain over the classroom.
The duel began silently, without a single word.
No loud spells, no showy start. The students sat spellbound, breaths caught in their throats, faces alight with excitement and eager expectation.
Crave moved first, taking the initiative.
His wand flicked with microscopic movements.
The atmosphere in front of Ethan warped violently as a distortion hex tore forward, invisible but devastating.
Ethan shifted half a step to the side.
The spell passed him and struck the far wall.
Stone split with a deafening crack.
Gasps filled the room.
"That," Flitwick said softly to the students, "was a nonverbal fracture hex. Extremely advanced. Most of you will not learn it for years."
Ethan did not comment.
He lifted his wand lazily.
A shimmer of translucent light formed around him.
It wasn't a mere shield. What rose before him was a layered barrier: shimmering strata of magic overlapping in intricate sheets, each one subtly shifting and reinforcing the next.
Crave's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a subtle sign he had been impressed by his opponent's spellwork.
Then he vanished.
Not Disapparition—no sound, no telltale twist of space. The shift was unnervingly fast and flawless, the signature of total mastery over the Displacement Charm.
He reappeared behind Ethan in the same heartbeat, already mid-cast.
Three silent spells launched in a tight triangle formation. Stunning, binding, and concussive.
A killing combination if used without restraint.
But Ethan had already moved.
He did not turn.
He simply stepped forward.
The spells collided behind him and detonated against an invisible ward he had left in place like a discarded cloak.
Several students audibly gasped.
"He cast that without looking," someone whispered.
Flitwick smiled faintly.
"Spatial awareness. That is what experience looks like."
Crave pressed forward relentlessly.
Now the arena came alive with brilliant flashes and the bright, sparkling crackle of spells.
The air grew thick with the vivid violence of magic—spells collided in dazzling bursts of color, crimson and sapphire and emerald flaring where they met, the room alive with light and raw power.
Invisible blades carved through space. Shockwaves rippled across the floor. Sparks erupted where spells collided midair.
Neither professor uttered a single unnecessary word or attempted the psychological jabs that often precede a duel, meant to fracture an opponent's resolve. No motion was frivolous; every step, every flick of the wand served a clear purpose.
Ethan deflected rather than blocked. Redirected instead of overpowering. He seemed almost relaxed, like he was walking through rain rather than standing in a storm of aggressive spells.
Inside, Ethan's mind was racing.
'He is direct,' he thought. 'Extremely efficient in spellwork. No wasted magic on frivolous casts. But rigid. The aggression, the complete indifference to surroundings or potential harm to allies, it comes from real combat. He fights like a man used to being alone, unconcerned with collateral consequences.'
Another barrage came.
Crave layered curses in spirals now, forcing Ethan to rotate his defense.
'There.'
'A gap.'
'A tiny one.'
'If I cut there,' Ethan thought, 'I can break his casting arm rhythm.'
His wand twitched.
For the briefest instant, a ruthless sequence unfolded in his mind.
'Chain spell to lock his movement. Disarm to take the wand. Nerve strikes to probe his Occlumency. Finish with a collapse to the ground.'
He nearly moved to carry it out—then stopped himself.
'No. What are you even thinking? You never turn aggressive against a colleague, no matter how frustrating and annoying they are. And especially not here, not with students watching their professor being humiliated.'
He shifted the spell mid-cast and released a harmless dispersal charm instead. It shattered Crave's offensive wave without retaliation.
Crave noticed his shift in spell work.
Now Crave escalated further.
The temperature in the arena plummeted.
Frost crawled across the stone floor in branching veins. The air crystallized with suspended ice particles.
Several students shivered involuntarily.
"A battlefield control charm," Flitwick murmured. "Professor Crave is attempting to restrict mobility."
Ethan exhaled slowly.
The frost slid past him, harmless.
A subtle heat shimmered around his frame, bending the chill like sunlight refracting through frozen air.
He cast a warming spell on himself.
Flitwick's eyes widened just a touch.
"Oh my, such a smart and wonderfully simple solution to the situation," he whispered.
Crave attacked through the distortion, wand flashing faster now.
Illusions layered over real spells. Afterimages. Phantom casting angles.
To the students, it became nearly impossible to follow.
But Ethan could.
'Predictable aggressive patterns,' he thought, 'his mind steady and calm. His fighting and battle tactics are overly repetitive. He does not improvise enough.'
Ethan countered. With a swift motion he brought the stool he had sat on to life, his skill in Transfiguration—his greatest strength—shining through. The stool reshaped into a cackling clown that bounded toward Crave with unrestrained energy.
Crave was already mid-cast. The sudden appearance of the charging, laughing clown startled him. He fired a cutting spell without hesitation. The clown shattered in mid-stride, dissolving back into a broken stool, fragments scattered across the stone.
'So he does have good reaction to surprise attacks,' Ethan thought calmly as he prepared for the upcoming spell. Crave's eyes had turned colder, almost wounded, as if the appearance of a clown in a duel he viewed as sacred had genuinely offended him.
Amalai Crave sent Bombarda roaring forward. The spell detonated with a shattering boom and a burst of blinding light.
Ethan met it with a perfect shielding charm, the barrier holding firm. When the air cleared, Crave was no longer standing where he had been.
Ethan pivoted instantly—he felt the shift behind him. A vivid red spell streaked toward his back.
He countered with a harmonic resonance charm. The attacking magic wavered and broke apart, dissolving into a cascade of harmless sparks.
Crave launched a chain lightning curse that split into branching arcs.
Ethan grounded it into the arena wards with a downward redirect.
Each exchange drew a stunned hush over the students.
The cheers had faded completely.
They were witnessing something new and unfamiliar: a manner of fighting they had never seen, far removed from the duels they had pictured between adults.
Desperately, they tried to make sense of a level of skill that lay well beyond their reach.
Flitwick spoke quietly throughout, unable to contain his excitement.
"Notice the restraint."
"That counter was layered in three phases."
"Watch Professor Thorne's footwork. He is controlling distance, not just spells."
Eventually, the pace began to ease.
Not because either was tired.
Because both had reached the same conclusion: this fight had already gone far enough.
Crave lowered his wand first Just slightly still vigilant of any possible attack.
Ethan mirrored the motion and lowered his wand and smiled at him.
The arena fell completely silent as why suddenly they stopped fighting.
Then Crave spoke in his usual dead tone.
"Hmmm. You're not terrible for a person of muggle origin, but I still don't believe you belong in this classroom."
Ethan gave a faint smile. "I didn't know you felt so strongly against me teaching dueling."
Crave clicked his tongue. "Hogwarts shouldn't be teaching children this subject. We aren't training an army."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "And what's wrong with giving wizards and witches the skills to defend themselves? Is there a reason you don't want them prepared for the dangers outside these walls?"
Crave's gaze shifted to the Muggle-born students. "Not everyone deserves to fight. If they do, the undeserving will begin dreaming of things beyond their station."
Ethan followed his look and felt a jolt of surprise. "That's not an acceptable opinion for a professor at Hogwarts."
Crave paused, then said softly, "They should be grateful we allow them here at all."
Ethan glanced at the students; confusion showed on most faces. Only a few in the front row seemed to grasp the full meaning.
Ethan looked back at Crave. "I expected more from someone who claims descent from Salazar Slytherin himself."
Crave's face twisted in disgust. "We do not claim. We are his descendants. Something a person with your origins will never comprehend."
Flitwick was among those who heard it all. He quietly cast a silencing charm to prevent the rest of the class from catching the exchange clearly. A couple of older students near the front had heard enough to understand.
Ethan was taken aback by the racist remarks, so casually and openly expressed. This was the longest exchange he had ever had with Crave, and it brought an unexpected shock: a superiority complex so blatant that Crave made no effort to hide it, treating it as an ordinary fact.
Ethan faced the students again, offering a gentle smile to lighten the mood and guide them back to the lesson, as though the earlier exchange had never occurred.
"I hope you were all paying close attention and learned something valuable from our duel," he said in his calm, steady voice. "This is what a real duel truly is: unpredictable and dangerous. At any moment, one spell could end it—you could lose, be captured, or worse. I'm not here to scare you about the world beyond these walls, but this kind of practice is especially important for anyone considering an Auror career or venturing into dangerous places. It's good training for all of you to understand the stakes."
A hand shot up immediately.
"Professor… who won?"
Several students leaned forward anxiously.
Ethan chuckled softly.
"That does not matter."
Groans followed instantly.
He raised a hand.
"If Professor Crave had used a few different choices, I might have lost. Duels are not decided by power alone. Timing, smart decisions, restraining overuse of magic. All of it matters."
Crave stayed silent.
From time to time his eyes flicked toward Ethan, lingering just long enough to be noticed, before he turned to retrieve his coat from the table.
Flitwick watched the exchange with a small, knowing smile, as though he had seen this sort of quiet tension many times before.